by B. J Daniels
The town of Whitehorse had sprung up to the south closer to the Missouri River Breaks, but when the railroad had come through in the 1800s, the town had moved north, taking the name with it.
The note read: “Mr. Jackson, I need to talk to you, M. W. Blake.” There was a local phone number at the bottom. And four little words that ruined his night. “It’s about your wife.”
The word “wife” jumped out at him. He glanced down at the floor and saw the business card at his feet. Bending, he stooped to pick it up. This he recognized. The logo was from the Milk River Examiner, the local weekly newspaper.
Under it was the name: M. W. Blake.
Under that was the word: reporter.
He crumpled both the note and the business card in his fist. He didn’t have any idea who M. W. Blake was and he didn’t care to know. The last thing he planned to do was talk to a reporter about Grace.
* * *
ON THE WAY home after leaving a note for Cade Jackson at his bait shop, Andi realized she couldn’t wait until morning to find out what was on this cassette tape. She called the publisher and asked if anyone had a tape player that took regular-size cassette tapes.
His daughter just happened to have an old one she no longer used, he said. If she stopped by, she was welcome to borrow it. He also had a couple of tapes she could use if she needed to tape something.
Mark Sanders had bent over backward since she’d applied for the job. She’d told him she needed a change of pace. He, in turn, had needed a reporter after Glen Whitaker had been murdered. Not a lot of reporters wanted to come to Whitehorse, especially after they found out what it paid.
Sanders had been worried that Andi had too much experience and wouldn’t be staying long.
“Whitehorse is nothing like Fort Worth,” he’d said with a laugh. “Maybe you’d better come up here and have a look-see before you take my offer.” He had already apologized for how little he could pay her.
She’d had to convince him that Whitehorse was exactly what she was looking for. She didn’t tell him her real reason. Only her friend Bradley knew that.
Back at her apartment, Andi took the cassette tape from her pocket and popped it into one side of the player. Hitting Play, she turned up the volume and went into the kitchen to pour herself a glass of wine.
At first all she heard was static. She was beginning to think that the tape was blank as she took the wine bottle from the fridge.
But as she reached for a glass, she heard a woman’s voice on the tape and froze.
Like a sleepwalker, she moved into the living room, the wine bottle in her hand as the tape continued.
She didn’t recognize the voice—she’d never heard Starr Calhoun speak. Nor did the woman have much of a Texas accent. No, it was what the woman was saying that captured all of Andi’s attention and convinced her that the voice was that of Starr Calhoun.
On the tape, the woman talked about robbing a series of banks. After a moment, a male voice could be heard on the tape. Her accomplice.
The tape went to static but Andi didn’t move. Couldn’t. She stood too shocked to do anything but stare at the tape player.
Who had sent this to her?
And why?
And where had it been the last six years?
She told herself not to look a gift horse in the mouth. Why not just revel in her good luck at having a story like this dropped into her lap?
But she knew that hadn’t been the case. It was no coincidence someone had sent her this. Just as it was no coincidence she was here. Was it possible that someone had sent her the job notice, counting on her need to escape Fort Worth and her interest in the Calhouns? With Lubbock’s arrest just miles from here the person who’d sent her the job notice knew she wouldn’t be able to resist.
Just as she wouldn’t be able to resist breaking this story once she had all the facts.
She stepped to the player, her fingers trembling as she rewound the tape and listened to it again before she went to the kitchen and poured herself a healthy glass of wine. She was shaking now, the realization of what she had in her possession starting to sink in along with the apprehension.
She needed to talk to her friend Bradley. He’d been her sounding board through the whole secret-admirer-turned-stalker trauma in Texas. She dialed his number, needing him to be home.
“So how’s the weekly newspaper business,” Bradley said after they’d exchanged pleasantries about the weather in Montana versus Texas and he’d told her the TV-station gossip.
She hesitated but only for a moment before she told him about the story she’d stumbled across. Bradley, being Bradley and a journalist at heart, was ecstatic.
“What an incredible story,” he cried. “So you were right about there being something to Lubbock Calhoun’s arrest up there. Well, that’s why you’re the hotshot news celebrity and I’m the lowly researcher,” he joked. “And to have this story dropped in your lap...” He suddenly turned serious. “Oh, sweetie, I almost forgot. I saw on the news that Lubbock Calhoun was released from prison three weeks ago and has already broken his parole.”
Her heart leaped to her throat. Lubbock was on the loose?
“You don’t think he’s the one who sent you the information, do you?” Bradley asked.
“Why would he?” she asked, although she already knew.
“Isn’t it obvious? He figures a hotshot reporter like you will find the money,” Bradley said.
She bristled at the hotshot reporter comment. “I work for a weekly newspaper.”
“Now you do. Stop being so modest. You are a great reporter. Lubbock must have seen you on TV during one of your stories that made national news,” Bradley said. “Sweetie, I don’t like this. I think you should hightail it back to Texas. If Lubbock Calhoun’s feeding you this information, then it’s too dangerous. The man is a hardened criminal.”
“You know I can’t come back to Texas.”
“But can you stay there? What if I’m right and he’s hoping you find the money for him?”
“It would make quite the story,” she said, only half joking.
“Sweetie, but what if you don’t find the money?”
“For all I know Starr faked her death and has already spent all the money,” Andi said and took a drink of her wine, unnerved by the news about Lubbock. “Don’t forget Houston. He could have already blown the money. No one has seen him since he and Starr pulled off that last robbery six years ago.”
“If Houston was her accomplice,” Bradley pointed out. “We know it wasn’t Lubbock. He didn’t resemble the man in the bank surveillance photos. Plus he was arrested on an old warrant so he wasn’t even a suspect in the robberies apparently.”
Andi had been thinking about the millions of stolen dollars. “You can bet one of the Calhouns has already spent that robbery money.”
“If that were the case, wouldn’t Lubbock Calhoun know that—if he’s the one who sent you the information?” Bradley asked.
He made a good point.
“Maybe he doesn’t know what happened to the money—or Starr or Houston. Maybe he’s winging it just like me,” she said.
“Maybe. Or maybe Starr hid the money, planning to take off with her new identity, but hadn’t planned on losing control of her car and dying.”
“That’s another possibility,” she admitted. “That’s the problem. There are too many possibilities.”
“Oh, wait,” Bradley said, “but if Starr had hidden the money, surely her husband would have found it by now. Unless he did find it!”
“Is there some way to find out if any of the stolen money ever turned up?” she asked.
“The robberies were during the day, right? Banks have what they call ‘bait’ money. It’s traceable. So if any of it has surfaced... I’ll see what I can find ou
t and get back to you,” he said, sounding as excited as she felt about the story.
She gave him her new cell phone number and they both promised to keep in touch.
After she hung up, she shot a glance at her front window as a car drove slowly by. Lubbock wasn’t just out of prison, he’d already broken parole.
Quickly she stepped to the window and closed the curtains, telling herself that the smartest thing she could do was to take everything she knew to the local sheriff, Carter Jackson, Cade Jackson’s brother.
But then the story would break prematurely. A story that belonged to her. And not the whole story. Not to mention that she might never find out who was sending her the information or what they wanted.
She checked to make sure her door was locked before she rewound the tape and listened to it again, her mind racing. She took one of the blank tapes Mark Sanders had given her and put it in the second cassette deck and made a copy of the original.
Wouldn’t anyone who wanted the story to come out have gone to the sheriff? Or the FBI? Or if not that, a major television station?
Whoever had given her the newspaper clipping and the tape wasn’t after a story—or justice. No, they wanted something else. Bradley had to be right. They wanted the money.
She took the tape out of the player and stared down at it. The big question was what was she going to do with this?
Chapter Three
THE JACKSON BAIT SHOP was on the edge of town. The sign was weathered, the building small. As Andi got out of her car the next morning, she wondered how Cade Jackson made a living in such a remote place selling bait.
Or was he living off the three million dollars Starr had stolen?
Andi had gone into the newspaper early, gathering everything she could find on Cade Jackson. There hadn’t been much. A local cowboy, he’d grown up on a ranch south of here near what was called Old Town Whitehorse.
Since then he’d won some horse-roping events and caught a few big fish that had made the newspaper.
His only claim to fame just might turn out to be marrying Starr Calhoun, she thought as she saw that the closed sign was still up in the bait shop window. There were no store hours posted. Did anyone even fish this time of year?
She knocked at the door and waited on the small landing out front, hugging herself, trying to keep warm. She guessed he was already up since the Great Falls Tribune newspaper box next to the door was empty. It had snowed again last night, coating the entire town with a couple of inches. The snow glittered so bright it was blinding. But it was the breeze that cut through her, chilling her to the bone. She’d had no idea it would be this cold up here.
As a gust of wind whirled snow around her, she instinctively reached for the doorknob. To her surprise, it turned easily in her hand, the door falling open.
She was hit with a blast of warm air. She leaned into it, stepping into the room and closing the door behind her as she tried to shake off her earlier chill.
Apparently Cade Jackson sold more than bait. The room was divided into four long aisles by three high shelves filled with lures and jigs, rods and reels, paddles and oars, nets and an array of boat parts and sporting equipment.
Cade Jackson was nowhere in sight but she thought she heard water running somewhere in the back.
She moved through the shop toward the sound. It was warm in here and she was in no hurry to go back outside into the cold.
But she reminded herself: for all she knew this man had known about the robbery, might even have gotten rid of his wife to keep all the money for himself.
But if he had the three million dollars or even some of it, he didn’t appear to be enjoying it much, she thought as she saw his living quarters.
The shop opened onto a small apartment. The lack of stuff made her wonder if anyone could live this simply. Certainly not Starr Calhoun.
For a moment Andi considered what she was doing. This felt all wrong. Not to mention she couldn’t guess what Cade Jackson’s reaction was going to be to not only her being here, but also what she had to show him.
What if she was wrong?
She wasn’t and she knew it.
But she still felt apprehensive. She had no idea what this man was like. The fact that Starr Calhoun had married him was a clue, though. Andi was wondering if she’d made a mistake coming here alone.
She was no fool, though. In her large shoulder bag, along with a copy of the cassette she’d made and the boom box, she had a can of pepper spray and her cell phone.
“Mr. Jackson?” she called from the doorway into the apartment. No answer.
She called his name again. The sound of running water stopped. “Hello!” she called out. “Hello?” She stopped to look at a bulletin board filled with photographs of fish being held by men, women and children. Some of the fish were as huge as the grins on the many faces.
When she looked up, she was startled to find the apartment doorway filled with a dark silhouette. She got the impression Cade Jackson had been standing in the doorway for some time studying her.
To make things even more awkward, his dark hair was wet and droplets of water beaded on his lashes as well as on the dark curls of his chest hair that formed a V to disappear into the towel wrapped around his slim hips.
“I’m sorry, the door was open,” she said quickly.
He smiled either at the fact that he had her flustered or because of her accent. “The shop isn’t open yet, but then again you don’t look like a fisherman,” he said eyeing her. “Nor do you sound local.”
“No, I’m neither,” she said, getting her composure back. He was even more handsome up close and personal.
He cocked a dark brow at her.
“I’m Miranda Blake. I left my business card and a note on your door last night? But I can wait while you dress.”
He’d looked friendly before. He didn’t now. “M. W. Blake, the new reporter over at the Examiner?” He was shaking his head and moving toward her, clearly planning to show her out. “I don’t talk to reporters.”
“You’ll want to talk to me,” she said standing her ground as she put her hand on her shoulder bag, easing the top open so she could get to her pepper spray.
He stopped in front of her and she caught a whiff of his soap. Yum. He stood a good head taller. She had to tilt her face up to look into his eyes. Eyes so dark they appeared black. Right now they were filled with impatience and irritation.
“I’m afraid you’re mistaken about that, Tex.”
“I have some information about your wife,” she said, determined not to let him intimidate her but it was difficult. The look in his eyes alone would frighten someone much larger than herself. She clutched the pepper spray can in her purse.
He was as big a man as she’d first thought, a few inches over six feet and broad at the shoulders. Solid looking, she thought. Not like a man who worked out. More like a man who worked. That surprised her given that selling bait and tackle couldn’t be all that strenuous.
He settled those dark eyes on her. Everything about him was dark. She tried to imagine someone like Starr Calhoun with this man. Starr with her wild, curly auburn hair and those pale blue eyes, as fair as this man was dark.
“You’re new here,” Cade Jackson said as if roping in his irritation. “You don’t know me. So I’m going to cut you some slack. I don’t want another story about my wife’s death. It’s Christmas and I don’t need any more reminders that she’s gone, all right?”
“I think you’d better look at this,” she said, slipping her hand from the pepper spray can to the copy of the photo taken from the bank’s surveillance camera. It had gone out to all news media six years ago, but she doubted it had made it as far as Whitehorse, Montana.
Cade didn’t take the photo she held out. He stood with his hands on his hips, dripping on the
wood floor of the bait shop, the white towel barely wrapped around his hips showing way too much skin.
“Please. Just take a look and then I promise to leave,” she said.
With obvious reluctance he took the copy of the photograph. She watched his expressive dark eyes. Recognition then confusion flashed in them. “What the hell is this?”
“It’s your wife. Only her name wasn’t Grace Browning. It was Starr Calhoun. That photo was taken by a surveillance camera in the bank she robbed six years ago—not long before she showed up here in Whitehorse.”
“Get out,” he said. “I don’t know what your game is, Tex, but I’m not playing.”
“Neither am I,” she said as he reached for her arm. “Starr Calhoun was one of the infamous bank-robbing Calhouns from Texas,” she said, dodging his grasp, her hand again clutching the can of pepper spray in her purse. “The three million dollars she and her male accomplice stole was never recovered.”
“If you don’t get out of here right now, you’re going to be sorry,” he said through gritted teeth. “What the hell do you keep reaching in that purse for?” He grabbed her arm.
As he jerked her hand out of the shoulder bag, her finger hit the trigger on the pepper spray.
* * *
ON THE LAPTOP propped up in her kitchen, Arlene Evans studied the latest applicant on her Meet-A-Mate site with pride as she whipped up a batch of pancakes.
Since she’d started her rural online dating service she’d had a few good-looking men sign up but none who could match Jud Corbett, a former stuntman and actor, who liked long walks in the rain, horseback riding, dancing in the moonlight and was interested in finding a nice cowgirl to ride off into the sunset with.
Arlene had proved she was a great matchmaker when she’d gotten the Whitehorse deputy sheriff together with that Cavanaugh girl.
But that was nothing compared to who she had picked out for the handsome Jud Corbett.
Her very own daughter Charlotte. True, Charlotte wasn’t a cowgirl, so to speak, but she could ride a horse. And Jud Corbett was just what her daughter needed right now.